


Just the Thought of You Can Drive Me Wild

by Sandrene09



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian is a bestselling YA romance author who doesn’t actually believe in love. Anthony is the guy he meets online. Sparks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Thought of You Can Drive Me Wild

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my birthday! I thought I would write something that isn’t as angsty as the ones I’ve been writing lately to celebrate the occasion. Title is from Smile by Uncle Kracker. Comments are appreciated!

“Have you written anything?”

Ian’s eyes open, his hand pausing from rubbing his eyelids. Immediately, his eyes find their way to the blank screen before him, and he resists the urge to groan.

He hasn’t even written a single word.

Quickly, he stands up and starts to pace. “Sure!” he says in as cheerful a tone as he can muster, the pitch of his voice unnaturally high. He winces, hearing himself.

“You haven’t written a single thing, have you?” Melanie asks, and Ian sighs, his shoulders slumping. He really should have known better than to try and lie to his best friend-slash-editor.

“No,” he responds, and he can hear the defeat in the tone of his voice. Sighing, he sits back down and looks at the blinking cursor on the screen. Why is this so _hard_? It wasn’t like this before. Before, words would just flow out of his fingertips, his mind not even working that much at all. There was no trouble with characters or plot lines, and dialogue was even easier to write.

Now, however—that’s a different story. If someone were to watch Ian sit in front of his laptop, his fiercest glare directed at the blinking cursor, that someone would never even think that Ian is actually _Andrew Hecox_ , bestselling author of several young adult romance books. Nothing’s entering his mind except the desire to just lie down and read some of his books in hopes that he will actually get some inspiration.

“Why is it so hard?” He asks, allowing himself to whine just a little bit. “Mel, it’s not supposed to be this hard.”

Melanie laughs. “Uh, I’m pretty sure it _is_ supposed to be this hard.”

Ian shakes his head even though he knows Melanie can’t see him do so. “No, I mean, writing wasn’t this hard before. Why is it so hard to do now? I can’t even think of dialogue, much less characters. Don’t even get me started on the plot line.”

“So you’ve finally met your match,” Melanie responds casually. Ian can practically see her shrug. “I knew it would only be a matter of time before you run out of things to write.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Ian tilts his head. “Why?”

“Well you know, there’s the matter of you not actually believing in true love, and then there’s the matter of you being single.”

“Mel, I’m pretty sure what you just said was a bit offensive,” Ian says in a soft tone, amused.

“What the hell was offensive about that?”

Ian stands up and finally gives in to the urge to close his laptop, only barely slamming it closed. “You were implying that single people can’t write romance,” he says, walking towards the kitchen.

“I’m not saying that they can’t—”

“—uhh, yes you are. You just did,” Ian quickly says as he looks into his refrigerator.

“—shut up, Ian, I didn’t. It’s just that, you know, painters have their muses, and I guess writers should have those too.”

Ian raises an eyebrow. “You guess?”

“Sweetie, there’s a reason why I’m an editor and not a writer.”

Ian hums under his breath, tucking the phone between his ear and his right shoulder so he could reach for the leftovers in his fridge with both hands.

“Look, Ian. Just do something. Go out of town. Go to a bar and meet someone. Try something new. Maybe those will help with the writer’s block. Until you get that manuscript done, I won’t be able to help you.”

Ian puts the leftovers on his table and sighs. Melanie has been his editor since the beginning, when he was still a beginner in the business. She had stuck with him since that first book and had been proud of him when he got his first paycheck. She had been the one to tell him to quit his job at the local Chuck E Cheese now that he didn’t need it and focus more on his writing. She had been the one to call him and inform him that his first book was a New York Times bestselling book.

She has helped him so much over the years. Ian doesn’t think she’s aware of this, of just how much she has been there for him.

“I will try something,” he says, nodding to himself.

“Okay,” Melanie responds, her voice soft. Ian can hear the understanding in the tone of her voice. “I know it’s hard now, but it will be easier. Just write. I’ll edit it. And if you’re really having trouble, I’m sure I can do something to push the deadline back a couple of months—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Ian quickly interrupts. “I’ll make the deadline, I promise.”

“If you say so,” Melanie says, and Ian hates how she sounds skeptical. To be honest, he is, too. This writer’s block has been with him since about two months ago, and it doesn’t look like it’s going away soon.

He ends the call and stares at the leftovers on the table as if they could give him the answer to all his problems. Biting the inside of his cheek, he thinks about what Melanie just told him.

It has always been something Melanie joked about—his lack of a love life and his romance books—and to be honest, the irony isn’t lost on him. However, he never actually thought that what Melanie had said would come true.

Ian frowns.

Or maybe, he knew that it would come true. He just hadn’t expected it to come true so soon.

Fuck, what the hell is he going to do?

Ian looks at the soggy chicken in front of him and tilts his head. Even the chicken looks like it’s mocking him and his inability to be a writer.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, still looking at the (frankly) unappetizing chicken.

The chicken, predictably, stays silent.

Dick.

-.-.-.-

Ian started writing when he was ten.

Back then, his stories had been filled with dragons and quests, with knights and magic spells. Because he had a strict father in addition to his keen sense of adventure, he had to make do with writing himself climbing trees instead of actually climbing them in real life.

So he wrote. And he wrote. And he wrote some more. He wrote about saving entire kingdoms through magical quests and he wrote about discovering life in other planets. He wrote about dinosaurs in the modern world and he wrote about being a sheriff in a big town.

He wrote about a lot of things, but romance was never one of them. There were no princesses to save or female astronauts to go on adventures with. There were no lady companions or female deputies.

(Ian thinks this should have clued him into the fact that he wasn't the romance-and-relationships type. His mom thinks this should have clued him into the fact that he was gay.)

Everything changed when he was in middle school and girls were suddenly the interest of every boy. Suddenly, all his friends were asking him if he thought Stacy was hot in that cheerleader’s uniform she always wore. He always, _always_ said yes.

The problem wasn’t in pretending to like Stacy. The problem was in not knowing what to answer when his friends asked him which girl he was attracted to. He always played safe, telling his friends that he wouldn’t tell them her name because he would rather woo her first to let her know he was interested in her as opposed to her finding out about it because of the school’s rather efficient gossip grapevine. His friends always nodded slowly and accepted his answer, thinking he was just naturally a romantic.

In his spare time, he started writing about romance. Suddenly, there were princesses to be saved and female companions to go on adventures with. Because he had grown up though, these stories were no longer set in magical realms created by a small child with a wild imagination. Instead, these stories were set in real life and in cities he had never been in—New York, Los Angeles, and on one time, Seattle.

As he grew up, his writing became much better. His characters began to be more than just words placed next to each other and instead started to become _beings_. Emotions that used to be letters started to become more real.

He started to date more. There was Mike, his classmate in one subject in College who knew poetry more than anyone else Ian had ever met, and there was Patrick, the guy he met in a Gamestop downtown.

He graduated College with a degree in English Literature and no idea where to go. Luckily, Chuck E Cheese had an opening, and he was hired.

This was where he met Kyle.

-.-.-.-

It’s ten in the evening when Ian finally gives up.

He resists the urge to bang his head on the table and instead goes on the internet. Maybe Melanie was right; maybe he _does_ need to go on a date or something. Maybe meeting someone new is the key to finally getting something written.

Sighing, he goes on Google and searches for a respectable dating website. He's still skeptical about the entire thing, but that's okay. No one needs to know. And anyway, no one knows what famous author Andrew Hecox looks like, so there's really no harm in trying.

What's the worst that could happen?

Well, there's always the chance that he's actually talking to an old pedophile instead of the person he thinks he's talking to, not to mention the possibility of some form of identity theft happening...

Ian rubs his temples with his fingers. Damn, this is harder than he thought it would be, not that he actually put any thought into it.

As he fills in the information required to make an account, Ian sighs. He's been doing that a lot lately, but in his defense, he's in a perfectly acceptable position to do so. After all, he's a fairly successful twenty seven-year old man desperate enough to go and find a date online instead of actually going out there.

Fuck. He's actually more pathetic than he thought.

He types in his second name—Andrew—instead of his first, and puts in Melanie's surname instead of his.

Ian nods to himself. This is okay. A few lies won't hurt. After all, he's not really getting himself a relationship—he's just doing this to try and see if maybe meeting someone new online will be able to make words flow out of him again—and at least this way, the chances of some form of identity theft happening will significantly lessen.

Ian types in his age and shakes his head. At least even in the face of stupid decisions, he has his logic to back him up.

It doesn’t take Ian long to finish filling out blank boxes with required information, and before he knows it, he has his profile set up with a picture of a box as his icon.

He doesn’t have to wait long, it seems, because just a few minutes later, a small dialog box on the bottom left corner of his screen appears.

_Anthony P. (10:34 pm)_

_Hi._

Ian blinks.

_Andrew M. (10:34 pm)_

_Hello. :) How are you?_

_Anthony P. (10:35 pm)_

_I’m great! Nintendo just announced the release dates for their newest console. I am so friggin’ excited!_

Biting his lip, Ian resists the smile that wants to make itself known on his lips. He clicks Anthony’s name to go to his profile and quickly reads the information listed there, laughing when he sees “you” listed under _interests_.

He _really_ hopes this Anthony guy isn’t an old pedophile lurking on the internet.

Rather cheekily, he types:

_Andrew M. (10:41 pm)_

_I see I’m listed under your interests. ;)_

_Anthony P. (10:42 pm)_

_Yeah, after Nintendo and video games. Seriously, that’s what you focus on? :D_

Ian laughs.

_Andrew M. (10:43 pm)_

_Well, if you like, I would love to focus on you first._

_Anthony P. (10:45 pm)_

_I’m Anthony. I work as an analyst in Youtube. I’m 27 and I live in LA. I love video games and I have a cat named Pip. Those are the basics._

Ian tilts his head, a smile on his face.

_Andrew M. (10:46 pm)_

_Well thank God you aren’t a pedophile._

_Anthony P. (10:46 pm)_

_Who said I wasn’t?_

Ian lets out a startled laugh, shaking his head.

_Andrew M. (10:48 pm)_

_Well...I’m taking my chances that you aren’t. What about other things?_

_Anthony P. (10:48 pm)_

_What other things?_

_Andrew M. (10:49 pm)_

_What are the non-basic stuff?_

_Anthony P. (10:50 pm)_

_You’re going to find them out for yourself. :)_

Apparently, Ian isn’t the only cheeky bastard here.

_Andrew M. (10:51 pm)_

_“Going to”? You’re pretty sure, huh?_

_Anthony P. (10:53 pm)_

_It’s nearly 11 pm on a Tuesday night. If you weren’t serious about this, you would be offline right now and trying to go to sleep because you have work tomorrow._

_Andrew M. (10:54 pm)_

_...good point._

_Anthony P. (10:55 pm)_

_So how about you? What are your basics?_

Ian bites his lip.

_Andrew M. (11:00 pm)_

_Well besides the fact that I love video games, I also love reading books. My name is Andrew. I work as a junior editor at a publishing company. I’m 27. I also hate platformers._

_Anthony P. (11:02 pm)_

_What? That’s crazy, man. Platformers? Seriously?_

_Andrew M. (11:02 pm)_

_Seriously._

_Anthony P. (11:03 pm)_

_You hate them? Why? They’re my childhood!_

_Andrew M. (11:04 pm)_

_Because they’re hard and I suck at them!_

_Anthony P. (11:07 pm)_

_...I’m torn between telling you that you’re a sore loser and making a joke about you maybe one day hating my dick._

Ian laughs, surprised. Damn, he got lucky. Anthony seems like such a nice guy—nothing like the nightmares Ian had been thinking about when he was typing in information. Of course, he could still be wrong, but now that he has these little bits of information, he thinks he’s more willing to bet on it not being the case.

_Andrew M. (11:10 pm)_

_Did you just make a dirty joke in relation to something that was your childhood? Kinky._

_Anthony P. (11:10 pm)_

_Ha, like you wouldn’t._

_Andrew M. (11:11 pm)_

_...you’re right._

_Anthony P. (11:12 pm)_

_I hate to cut this short, but I do have work tomorrow. :/ Chat another time?_

_Andrew M. (11:12 pm)_

_Sure. Good night!_

Ian closes the internet browser, a smile playing on his lips.

He opens his blank word document.

He starts to write.

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (10:02 am)_

_I’m bored._

_Anthony P. (10:04 am)_

_What are you doing chatting to me while you’re at work? You should be working._

_Andrew M. (10:05 am)_

_Says the guy who replied to me._

_Anthony P. (10:07 am)_

_I’ll have you know that I am on my break right now._

_Andrew M. (10:08 am)_

_And you just have a dating website open on your browser all the time?_

_Anthony P. (10:10 am)_

_You’re the one who started the chat!_

_Andrew M. (10:10 am)_

_Yes, because I was bored. It’s your job to entertain me._

_Anthony P. (10:13 am)_

_I can probably talk to you for a few minutes. What do you want me to do/say?_

_Andrew M. (10:15 am)_

_Well...I would like to know more about you._

Ian blinks.

That sentence came out rather more honest than he's ready for.

_Anthony P. (10:18 am)_

_I once wanted to be a video game developer. That was all I wanted when I was a kid. When I finally got my own computer, I learned how to use Photoshop, how to edit videos, and how to do some basic programming. Working at Youtube didn’t really enter my mind. Of course, there was no Youtube back then._

_Anthony P. (10:19 am)_

_What about you?_

Ian hesitates.

It’s ten in the morning on a Wednesday, and the cafe Ian is in is quiet. There are only a few people there—most of the regulars are still at their jobs—and the only sounds that could be heard in the cozy room are the clacking of keys on Ian’s keyboard and the sounds Joven, the owner of the cafe, makes as he cleans the counter nearby.

This entire chatting thing had been a better idea last night, when it was ten in the evening and Ian had been desperate to get anything written. Now, however, Ian finds that there are too many risks, too many warnings the voice in his head keeps shouting at him to listen to.

Despite those, he finds his fingers moving steadily across the keyboard, pressing keys and forming words.

_Andrew M. (10:25 am)_

_When I was a kid, I’ve always loved comic books. I loved the adventures. I read a lot. I didn’t really have an idea of what I wanted to be once I grew up back then, but I did start writing short stories when I was really young. The idea of becoming an author only came to me in junior year._

Ian bites his lip, his fingers slowly pressing the keys required to create his lie.

_Andrew M. (10:26 am)_

_Of course, I haven’t been published yet, so I’m working as an editor until that happens._

The response is immediate.

_Anthony P. (10:27 am)_

_Don’t worry, dude. I’m sure you’ll get published soon. :)_

_Andrew M. (10:28 am)_

_Thanks._

_Anthony P. (10:28 am)_

_Got to go! Break is almost over. Talk to you another time._

_Andrew M. (10:29 am)_

_Okay. Bye. :)_

Ian closes his browser and opens his word document, his fingers lightning-quick as they press down keys that will breathe life into his new character named “Anthony”.

Beside him, an open notebook with a list of Anthony’s traits sits untouched. His entire table is a mess of papers—basic questions about original characters that he had printed earlier and has to fill out later—and writing instruments.

It’s ridiculous, how much Ian has written since he had talked to Anthony last night. He has never seen this much progress since before his last bestselling book, and that had been published almost a year ago. Already, he has a vague idea of what the plot of his next book will be and a couple of characters listed out, though none has been as fleshed out as Anthony.

He knows that it’s a creepy thing to do, basing a character on someone that is practically a stranger, and he knows that if Melanie heard that he was doing this, she probably wouldn’t approve, but he had tried changing the character’s name last night when he had listed down every idea in his head in a hurry and it didn’t feel right.

Then again, the name he had changed “Anthony” to was “Bob”, so maybe it was because of _that_ that everything felt wrong.

“You’re writing again?”

Ian looks up at Joven and smiles, gratefully taking his cup of iced coffee and his donut. “Yeah,” he says as he clears some space for his drink. “Thankfully,” he adds.

Joven grins. As always, he looks too excited, his grin as wide as a shark’s. “Great! Man, I’ve missed you around my shop.”

Joven’s cafe, _Nerd(ish)_ , has been one of Ian’s favourite places since he had started living in LA. Just a couple of blocks from the publishing house, Ian has written many books here with Joven as the witness.

It also helps that Joven is a romantic at heart and that he oftentimes unwittingly gives Ian inspiration to write.

“So anyway,” Joven continues, sitting across Ian and—bless him—ignoring the chaotic mess on Ian’s table, “whatcha writing?”

Ian takes a quick sip of his drink before answering. “Well, I don't really have a very clear idea yet, but at least I have an idea," he answers, shrugging. "To be honest, at this point I'm just thankful for what I can get."

Joven nods thoughtfully. "But it's romance again, right?"

"Yup," Ian says around his mouthful of pink frosted sprinkled donut. "You got any advice for me?"

Joven shrugs. "You're the writer here, not me."

Ian shakes his head. “I meant the _romance_ part, Joven, not the writing part. Any advice?”

Joven furrows his eyebrows, his lips quirking a bit in thought. “Don’t ever fall in love with a guy you meet online. It always ends bad.”

And suddenly, Ian’s newest novel has its first words.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (8:16 pm)_

_Do you know that a lot of Youtubers make millions in a week? That’s more than what we’re paid for!_

_Andrew M. (8:18 pm)_

_Clearly this means we should just quit our jobs and create our own Youtube channel._

_Anthony P. (8:21 pm)_

_You read my mind. We could create one of those gaming channels or something. It would be fun! Man, imagine how great it would be to just play video games for a living. You get to enjoy playing classics like Zelda and Smash Bros while being paid hundreds of thousands for doing what you love._

_Andrew M. (8:23 pm)_

_Well if we’re not Youtubers, we can always become porn stars…_

_Anthony P. (8:25 pm)_

_What? I was talking about Zelda and Smash Bros and becoming porn stars was what came into your mind? Sicko. :P_

_Andrew M. (8:26 pm)_

_Well they earn a lot too, dude. Plus we won’t need to edit the videos. Someone else is going to do it for us._

_Anthony P. (8:28 pm)_

_Hmm, good point. And what would your porn name be?_

_Andrew M. (8:30 pm)_

_We won’t need to make our own porn names. I mean, if you really want the job to be related to something we love…_

_Anthony P. (8:31 pm)_

_What, so your name’s going to be Link?_

_Andrew M. (8:31 pm)_

_Even better: Mario._

_Anthony P. (8:32 pm)_

_You’re insane._

_Andrew M. (8:33 pm)_

_It makes logical sense! I mean, Mario is a plumber…_

_Anthony P. (8:34 pm)_

_Mario is a really unsexy name though. I mean, seriously?_

_Andrew M. (8:35 pm)_

_Well, if it makes it any better, Luigi is less sexy than Mario._

_Anthony P. (8:36 pm)_

_It doesn’t make it any better._

_Andrew M. (8:37 pm)_

_Are you sure?_

_Anthony P. (8:38 pm)_

_You're insane._

-.-.-.-

Ian downloads the dating website's app on his phone.

It’s not something he’s proud of, really.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (6:05 am)_

_Psst._

_Andrew M. (7:02 am)_

_Why the fuck were you awake at 6 in the morning?_

_Anthony P. (7:04 am)_

_I woke up early to go for a run._

_Andrew M. (7:04 am)_

_Ah._

_Anthony P. (7:06 am)_

_I was supposed to ask you what you wanted for breakfast._

Ian raises an eyebrow.

_Andrew M. (7:07 am)_

_If I told you what I wanted, would you bring it to me?_

_Anthony P. (7:08 am)_

_Yes._

_Anthony P. (7:08 am)_

_In the form of stock images._

_Andrew M. (7:09 am)_

_You’re ridiculous._

_Anthony P. (7:09 am)_

_So are you. :P_

Ian laughs, nodding.

The sun is bright, sunlight filtering in through the curtains. Ian smiles softly, stretching his legs contentedly under the sheets.

It’s already shaping up to be a good day.

_Andrew M. (7:12 am)_

_You’re right. Does that mean we’re a perfect match?_

_Anthony P. (7:13 am)_

_I don’t know. You still have to convince me. :)_

_Andrew M. (7:14 am)_

_I’ll go looking for stock images of food later and send them to you._

_Anthony P. (7:15 am)_

_...thanks._

-.-.-.-

“So...how’s your writing going?”

Ian looks up from his laptop and smiles, seeing Melanie. He watches her sit carefully on the seat across him before putting his focus back on the word document open on his screen. He’s been in the flow lately, the puzzle pieces of his plot coming together like cloth being sewn.

“It’s great,” he says distractedly, his fingers quick on the keyboard. Already, he’s starting chapter two.

When Melanie doesn’t reply for a few seconds, Ian looks up.

Melanie raises an eyebrow, an amused look on her face. She has her arms and legs crossed, no doubt looking like a model.

“What?” he asks, confused by her look. “Aren’t you glad I’m finally getting something done?”

She nods. “I am, don’t worry. It’s just—it’s barely been a week since I called you and you were moaning about writing being hard and now here you are, writing like there’s no tomorrow.”

Ian shrugs. “I’m in the flow,” he says simply, hoping that Melanie would take his response at face level.

She shakes her head as she leans fully back, somehow looking regal as she does so. Ian spares a moment to be jealous of her ability to constantly be graceful before focusing on what she’s talking about. “I’ve seen you in the flow before, Ian. This isn’t it.”

Ian furrows his eyebrows in confusion and leans back, blinking his eyes to relax them. “What do you mean?”

Melanie tilts her head, blond curls tumbling down her shoulder as she does so. “You have this way of ignoring everyone when you’re writing, you know,” she says, her tone of voice casual as she looks at him with that assessing gaze of hers. “Your eyes look glazed and you don’t hear anything. Hell, you don’t even stop writing for _me_ and I’m your editor! It’s kinda like you’re writing everything hurriedly because you’re chasing some idea you’re afraid you will forget. And now, look at you.” At Ian’s confused look, Melanie smiles at him, letting her eyes sweep over him. “Now you’re actually pausing from writing and talking to me. You don’t look stressed. You don’t look afraid of losing whatever idea you had. You look confident.”

Ian blinks, his eyebrows still furrowed. “You’ve been watching me while I write? That’s...kinda creepy, Mel.”

Melanie waves a hand, uninterested in Ian’s protests. “Not the important part,” she says, uncrossing her arms. She stands up, steady in her four-inch heels as she does so. “What _is_ important is, well, who _is_ this guy who’s inspiring you to write more?” she asks, a smug smile on her lips and a twinkle of delight in her eyes as she walks towards the counter.

Ian blinks. “Will you believe me if I say that it’s Joven?” he says loudly.

“No!” Melanie shouts back before ordering.

Fuck.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (9:07 am)_

_I'm late._

_Andrew M. (9:07 am)_

_Then why are you on your phone, talking to me?_

_Anthony P. (9:08 am)_

_I don't know._

_-.-.-.-_

Kyle loved music.

He knew everything from the classics to the top hits of the year. He knew how to play the guitar, the drums, and the violin, and he had a beautiful baritone voice Ian could listen to for _days_.

Of course, when Ian met him, he didn't know all of this. What he _did_ know was that Kyle was the employee who was in charge of showing him the ropes.

Kyle was slim, but not muscled. He had blond hair, a pair of vivid green eyes, and a charming grin that significantly lessened the awkwardness Ian felt.

He oozed confidence like no one's business.

At first, Ian had felt something like jealousy slither up his spine until it felt like something was constantly at the back of his throat, blocking his every breath and word. Ian had never been the graceful type, having always been too hyper and too caught up in the flow of things to actually stop and think about mellowing himself. In the face of something as beautiful as this man's sense of _being_ , Ian had to actively fight the urge to run away.

Kyle was friendly. He had a way of making _everyone_ feel comfortable, and he was good with kids. Ian would know—he had constantly been in the mascot's suit, and that had given him plenty of opportunities to watch Kyle work his magic with both parents and children.

It was only after two months of working alongside Kyle that Ian realized that he wasn’t jealous anymore. No, the pumping in his veins that he imagined he could feel more thoroughly wasn’t because of _envy_ , but rather because of _attraction_.

That was when he knew he was fucked.

-.-.-.-

It’s two in the morning and Ian is in front of his laptop.

Ian sighs and rubs his strained eyes, his motions slow as he works his tired limbs. Beside his laptop is his fourth cup of coffee and the notebook where he writes his characters’ traits, a small lamp turned on nearby to allow Ian to read his handwriting.

He should probably take a quick break.

He turns around in his seat, his eyes gazing longingly at his comfortable leather couch, but he shakes his head. He needs to get what’s in his head written. No matter what Melanie said about him being _“confident”_ this time, he still feels wrong pausing writing when he’s very much in the flow of things.

He can sleep later. He just needs to rest his eyes for a little while, take a break from the glare of his laptop screen.

Ian stands up and bends slowly, a soft sigh making its way past his lips as the knots and aches in his back ease a little. He stretches his arms and allows a small smile to appear on his lips. Already, he’s feeling much better than before, the headache that had only increased with more time he spent in front of the computer already beginning to fade.

Walking to his refrigerator, Ian takes his phone out.

_Andrew M. (2:08 am)_

_Are you awake?_

Ian pours himself a glass of water, smiling when he hears the telltale buzz of his phone.

_Anthony P. (2:10 am)_

_Yes, no thanks to you. >:|_

Biting his lip, Ian watches as his fingers slowly make their way across the touch keyboard on his phone.

_Andrew M. (2:11 am)_

_I can’t sleep._

There. That isn’t too much of a lie. Technically, he _can’t_ sleep seeing as he’s writing something at the moment.

Ian blinks. Why does he feel like he has to make excuses for himself? He doesn’t need _excuses_. From the very start, this has been a lie. This has been nothing more than a way for Ian to see if he could begin to write again with the help of a stranger.

He doesn’t need excuses.

Why does he feel so guilty?

_Anthony P. (2:12 am)_

_Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?_

Ian smiles.

_Andrew M. (2:12 am)_

_If i say yes, will you really do it?_

_Anthony P. (2:12 am)_

_...maybe._

Sobering, Ian rereads the message. The smile slips from his face as he realizes that he very much wants to hear Anthony’s voice, that he wants to finally know how Anthony would sound saying Ian’s name.

But that won’t be possible, will it? Because Ian has been lying to him since the very start. Because Anthony thinks Ian’s name is Andrew and that his last name is Moat.

He should stop this as soon as possible, should stop this before he falls too deep. Ian feels the urge to bang his head against the wall because this...this is _Kyle_ all over again. This is letting his emotions get the best of him and thinking that life will imitate art in the way that art is a sure thing and life is just _not_. This is thinking it’s the same as reading a book and falling in love with a fictional character, the same as falling in love with a plot and expecting a happy ending.

Despite all these, however—despite the many voices in his head telling him to calm down and back away slowly—he _wants_. He wants to hear Anthony’s voice.

He wants to get to know this guy better.

Ian reasons with himself. He _needs_ to hear Anthony’s voice. How else is he going to describe the way his character sounds in his novel?

Ian ignores the amused voice in the back of his head saying, “sure honey, whatever the hell you say,” in a patronizing tone of voice.

_Andrew M. (2:16 am)_

_Then yes._

Ian waits. He finishes his glass of water and makes his way back to his laptop, his eyes already hurting from the memory of being strained too much. Slowly, he sits down, resolutely not checking his phone every five seconds.

He tries to write, and finds after a few minutes that he can’t.

Sighing, he gives up.

_Andrew M. (2:21 am)_

_Hello? I demand my lullaby._

Ian stands up and paces the floor, making sure to leave his phone on the desk so that it would _conveniently_ be out of reach as he walks.

(He’s walking because he needs to work his legs. Shut up, what do you mean it’s because he’s anxious for a reply?)

After a few minutes, he sits back down and gets his phone.

He sighs.

There is no reply.

_Andrew M. (2:25 am)_

_You owe me a lullaby._

Apparently, there is no point in justifying to himself why he _should_ hear Anthony’s voice.

The fucker fell asleep on him.

Ian tries to focus on the screen before him and tries to will his fingers to move across the keyboard like they did before, but try as he might, they don’t do so. Instead, he feels the ache echo in his bones, feels tiredness bring him under.

He saves the document and goes to bed. No point in writing now.

 _At least_ , he thinks as he closes his eyes and feels sleep take him, _Anthony’s great for getting me to sleep_.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (6:05 am)_

_Aw man, I fell asleep on you. I’m sorry._

_Anthony P. (6:05 am)_

_I totally owe you a lullaby._

_Anthony P. (6:11 am)_

_I’m guessing you’re still asleep?_

_Anthony P. (6:13 am)_

_You totally are._

_Anthony P. (6:14 am)_

_This is weird. I feel like I’m talking to myself._

_Anthony P. (6:15 am)_

_Technically, I am talking to myself._

_Anthony P. (6:16 am)_

_I should probably stop._

_Anthony P. (6:18 am)_

_But yeah, I’m glad you’re finally asleep. Go get some rest. :)_

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (9:17 am)_

_I know you’re at work, so you won’t see this until later, but yeah, you totally owe me a lullaby._

Ian pockets his phone, smiling as he walks into the cafe. It’s nine in the morning, so the rush of businessmen and women grabbing their morning cup of coffee from Nerd(ish) has passed, leaving the coffee shop almost empty save for a few patrons.

Mari is the one working behind the counter, and she smiles at Ian before returning her focus to the cashier before her. Ian smiles back before going to his usual seat, small two-seater table placed against the right wall of the establishment, just a couple of steps away from the counter. Ian sets his laptop with careful hands and turns it on, making his way to the counter as he waits for the laptop to finish booting up.

“Hey Mari,” he greets, smiling at her. “I’ll have one Mocha Road Frappe and a three clubhouse sandwiches.”

“Hey,” Mari says as she reaches for a large dark blue mug. “How’s the writing? Joven says you’re writing again!”

Ian smiles. Mari is one of the few who knows about Ian. She has been working in Nerd(ish) for a couple of years now, and she is actually the first person Ian met at the coffee shop he didn’t know back then would be a place he would frequent.

Even though Ian’s known her since _forever_ and even though she is essentially Melanie’s other best friend, he doesn’t see her all that often. Somehow, he’s always at the coffee shop when she isn’t there and is instead at her ballet studio, working with little kids.

As Ian watches Mari work her magic behind the counter, Ian wonders how this has become his life, being friends with people who are more graceful than he can imagine. Mari, with her ballerina-posture, has more grace in one bone than Ian has in his entire _skeleton_ , and it’s the same for Melanie with her business suits and high heels.

It’s no wonder that Ian has based at least three characters on them, _each_.

He pulls out his wallet and pays Mari, carefully taking his plate of sandwiches and his mug before slowly walking to his table.

Sitting down, Ian opens the word document of his newest novel. Even though he’s already on the second chapter, something still feels wrong about it all. Normally, he would let Melanie weed out the awkward phrases and the unneeded characters, but this is something he doesn’t think he can wait for Melanie to edit.

The problem is that this isn’t something Melanie can just fix. Ian knows that there isn’t anything wrong with the character itself, and that there is a huge possibility that Melanie wouldn’t feel the same way as Ian once she reads it, which is why Ian worries. It also isn’t something he can work with, considering that his problem involves one of his major characters—Anthony’s love interest.

It’s not even anything about her traits—something that Ian has, once again, based from both Melanie and Mari, combining Mari’s geek factor and Melanie’s sense of style—this much, he can tell. What he can’t tell, however, is what feels so wrong about this character that he can’t bear writing her for too long.

Sighing, Ian takes a break from reading over her dialogue and sips at his frappe. It’s a shame, he thinks, because he likes the name he gave her.

Kalel’s a nice name, right?

Why does it feel so wrong?

Ian puts his mug back on the table, shaking his head. This is ridiculous. He should be writing again.

The bell above the door clangs, and Ian looks up, waving when he sees Joven.

Joven nods at him and walks toward his table, sitting down with a smile.  “You know,” he says by way of greeting, “I met this girl online.”

Ian raises an eyebrow. “What happened to not falling in love with people online?”

Joven shrugs. “You shouldn’t. You should only fall in love with them once you’ve met them in person.” He furrows his eyebrows and looks at Ian with suspicion. “I haven’t fallen in love with this girl; I only talked with her last night. Have you?”

Ian gives Joven his most innocent look and sips at his frappe, gingerly setting it down. “No,” he finally says after a few seconds, shaking his head. “Nope.”

Joven nods slowly, and Ian knows he doesn’t believe him at all. “Sure, Ian. Sure.”

“So anyway,” Ian says loudly, an overeager smile on his face, “what about this girl? Is she special?”

Joven looks at Ian for a few more seconds, as if assessing whether or not he should Ian and his issues _go_ , but then finally nods to himself before smiling. “I think so? She’s so cool. She has a Batman comic collection and she’s a bartender downtown. I’m meeting her tomorrow.”

“Already?” Ian asks, surprised. “That’s fast. And it’s Tuesday tomorrow, doesn’t she have work?”

Joven shrugs. “She’s a bartender. She works at night,” he says, leaning back. “I don’t think it’s fast. Do you think it’s fast?”

Ian nods slowly. “Yes,” he says.

“What about you Mari?” Joven asks loudly, showing no concern at all for the other customers. “Do you think it’s fast?”

“Definitely,” Mari says back.

Ian looks at Joven, an eyebrow raised.

Joven shrugs. “Well thankfully, the _right_ timing for me does not depend on whether or not you approve,” he says, a smile on his face as he stands up. “You guys are just jealous because you’re not seeing anyone.”

Ian shakes his head, a smile on his face. “Sure,” he says, nodding. “Totally.”

Joven rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Ian. The internet is full of potential like fruit ripe for the picking, and _I_ just so happen to be hungry for fruit.”

Ian watches as Joven walks away, a smile on his face.

As corny as Joven might be, Ian has to admit that he says great lines sometimes.

An idea taking form in his head, Ian looks down at his laptop and continues to write.

He’ll worry about his character later. For now, he needs to write.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (7:03 pm)_

_So. I owe you a lullaby. What do you want me to sing?_

Ian looks up from the book he’s reading and grabs his phone from his nightstand, smiling when he sees the notification.

His bedroom is dark except for the light produced by the lamp on his nightstand and the stars shining brightly outside against the dark evening sky. It’s during moments like these, when he is relaxing in his quiet room, when he feels at peace. The sheets are cool against his skin, and he buries himself further under them, putting a bookmark where he stopped reading the book before putting it away.

_Andrew M. (7:06 pm)_

_Hmm, that depends. What can you sing?_

_Anthony P. (7:07 pm)_

_Whatever you want me to, I guess._

_Andrew M. (7:09 pm)_

_What if I told you I want you to sing Bohemian Rhapsody?_

_Anthony P. (7:09 pm)_

_...okay, probably not that, then._

_Andrew M. (7:11 pm)_

_Maybe I’ll just ask you to make up something on the spot._

_Anthony P. (7:12 pm)_

_Give me your phone number and a topic._

Ian grins, raising an eyebrow.

_Andrew M. (7:14 pm)_

_A phone number? Well we’re fast._

_Anthony P. (7:18 pm)_

_It’s been a week, and in that week we’ve already talked at 2 in the morning and talked about being pornstars with video game names. How much faster can we get?_

_Andrew M. (7:19 pm)_

_True. But we’ve skipped a lot of things, I think._

_Anthony P. (7:19 pm)_

_?_

Ian bites his lip before texting, a smile still on his face.

_Andrew M. (7:20 pm)_

_Embarrassing sex stories._

_Anthony P. (7:21 pm)_

_Ah yes, how could I forget?_

_Andrew M. (7:21 pm)_

_Would you like to go first?_

_Anthony P. (7:23 pm)_

_Okay, here goes. Don’t judge me._

Ian furrows his eyebrows, sitting up slowly.

_Anthony P. (7:26 pm)_

_So a few years back, I meet this girl. She was cool. She brought me to her castle._

Ian tilts his head, confused. A castle? What?

_Anthony P. (7:29 pm)_

_So I go to her castle and I see this room and it’s filled with chains! I jokingly told her that that must be her dungeons, and she nods! Naturally, I was starting to get nervous because I didn’t sign up for this._

_Anthony P. (7:33 pm)_

_Then, out of nowhere, this weird turtle guy with spikes comes out of the darkness holding a mace. He says, “do you want to get freaky?” as he swings his mace. Then a guy with a really cool moustache appears and he’s holding a wrench, saying puns about plumbing. Apparently, his name was Mario._

Ian laughs, sliding back under the covers.

_Andrew M. (7:35 pm)_

_Mhm. I’d bet his name was Mario. And was the girl’s name Peach?_

_Anthony P. (7:36 pm)_

_Nah. We didn’t call her Peach. We called her Mistress._

_Andrew M. (7:36 pm)_

_I’d imagine that was pretty wild._

_Anthony P. (7:37 pm)_

_Not as wild as ours would be. ;)_

Ian laughs. He shakes his head, turning to his side.

_Andrew M. (7:38 pm)_

_Smooth._

_Anthony P. (7:39 pm)_

_Of course. I am trying to get your number, after all._

_Andrew M. (7:39 pm)_

_You missed the perfect opportunity to send me a cool emoticon._

_Anthony P. (7:40 pm)_

_Hmm, you’re right. Allow me to send you a picture of a cat with shades on, instead._

_Andrew M. (7:41 pm)_

_Why not a dog?_

_Anthony P. (7:43 pm)_

_Because dogs aren’t as cool as cats._

_Andrew M. (7:44 pm)_

_Blasphemy, dear sir!_

_Anthony P. (7:45 pm)_

_I only speak the truth, dear sir._

_Andrew M. (7:46 pm)_

_Lies and slander! To the dungeons with you!_

_Anthony P. (7:47 pm)_

_Cats are better than dogs. End of story._

_Andrew M. (7:47 pm)_

_This will be a problem when we move in together._

_Anthony P. (7:48 pm)_

_Move in together, huh? Now who’s being fast?_

Ian raises an eyebrow, laughing. He allows his fingertips to touch the letters, expressing some form of truth in this twisted lie of a scenario.

_Andrew M. (7:51 pm)_

_Well, if you’re concerned about the quickness of things, we can always start by moving my things one by one. Or your things, you know. I don’t really care if it’s one or the other._

_Anthony P. (7:52 pm)_

_This is interesting. Tell me more._

Ian raises an eyebrow. He allows his smile to slip a little as the silence in his (too big, too empty) room sharpens, becoming so much more noticeable against the noise of the city.

Slowly, he begins to type.

_Andrew M. (7:54 pm)_

_We’d probably have our first date doing something geeky._

_Anthony P. (7:55 pm)_

_Is spending our first date battling each other on Smash Bros too geeky for you?_

Ian smiles, feeling his chest beat double-time. This isn’t supposed to be this way, he knows, because this isn’t how he envisioned everything happening when he started this entire thing.

_Andrew M. (7:56 pm)_

_Nope. I was actually going to suggest a round of Halo._

_Anthony P. (7:57 pm)_

_We can do both. Where, though? My place or yours?_

_Andrew M. (7:58 pm)_

_Anywhere you’d like._

_Anthony P. (7:58 pm)_

_And then? Will there be sexy times?_

_Andrew M. (7:59 pm)_

_But of course._

_Anthony P. (7:59 pm)_

_I warn you: I sleep on the right side of the bed._

Ian blinks, allowing the smile to slip from his lips. He grabs a pillow and hugs it tight as he looks over it to reread what Anthony has sent.

He ignores the way he clutches at the pillow like a lifeline. He ignores the way there his heart aches in his chest, a pain so unlike any he had felt before. He ignores the way he can recognize himself at his most romantic—something that only happens when he’s in the flow of writing.

Most of all, however, he ignores the way the right side of his bed is empty and the way the lampshade on the right nightstand is turned off.

_Andrew M. (8:02 pm)_

_That’s okay. I sleep on the left._

_Anthony P. (8:03 pm)_

_That won’t matter anyway, since once we’re in the same bed, we’ll sleep in the center._

Ian breathes slowly out his nose, reminding himself not to let those unshed tears make their way down his cheeks.

In another life, Ian would have met Anthony somewhere else. He would have told Anthony his real name. He wouldn’t have lied.

In another life, he would have met Anthony and taken him on a date.

That isn’t this life. That isn’t this life because Anthony doesn’t know Ian, because Ian has only wanted this to be an experiment.

How the hell did he get caught up in this?

_Andrew M. (8:05 pm)_

_In another life, we would have met somewhere else. Like Gamestop, maybe._

_Anthony P. (8:06 pm)_

_We can still meet in a Gamestop._

Anthony’s right.

They _can_ meet in a Gamestop.

Ian clutches the pillow to his chest tighter. He needs to take a step back from all this, but not too far a step because he just _knows_ that whatever it is that gives him the ability to be able to write for long periods of time will vanish the moment he stops talking to this wonderful, _wonderful_ man.  He needs to take a breath of fresh air.

_Andrew M. (8:09 pm)_

_Hm. I’ll think about it. There’s still a lot I don’t know about you, you know._

_Anthony P. (8:10 pm)_

_What do you want to know?_

_Andrew M. (8:11 pm)_

_Favorite color?_

_Anthony P. (8:11 pm)_

_The color of your eyes._

Ian laughs. How the fuck can this man make his heart feel like shit one second and lighter than it ever has been the next?

_Andrew M. (8:12 pm)_

_Cheeky. But seriously._

_Anthony P. (8:12 pm)_

_Blue._

Ian allows his lips to curl into a soft smile. If only Anthony knew.

_Anthony P. (8:12 pm)_

_Yours?_

_Andrew M. (8:13 pm)_

_Blue. Favorite game series?_

_Anthony P. (8:13 pm)_

_Legend of Zelda, definitely. Yours?_

_Andrew M. (8:14 pm)_

_Halo._

_Anthony P. (8:15 pm)_

_Before we continue this, have you had dinner?_

_Andrew M. (8:16 pm)_

_Sort of. I ate around 6 in the afternoon._

_Anthony P. (8:18 pm)_

_You’re not going to eat again?_

_Andrew M. (8:19 pm)_

_Nah. You go eat, though._

_Anthony P. (8:20 pm)_

_Okay._

Ian finally puts his phone away, placing it on top of the book he had put earlier on the nightstand. He rubs his eyes with tired hands as he turns onto his back.

He wishes he doesn’t quite feel so alone.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (10:11 pm)_

_You’re probably asleep. I just finished eating._

_Anthony P. (10:12 pm)_

_I would love to meet you in person, you know._

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (8:47 am)_

_I would, too._

-.-.-.-

Ian is on chapter three.

He’s on chapter three, and the lead character opposite Anthony—Kalel—still doesn’t feel as fleshed out as she should be.

Ian doesn’t know why.

He looks over the papers he had printed and filled out, grabbing the one with Kalel’s information on it. He has all the basics—her birthday, her age, her looks, her weight and height—as well as some other things he had scribbled down such as her interests, her traits, her personality, and her little quirks. By all means, the information he has listed down should be enough, but somehow it isn’t.

With his other hand, he grabs the piece of paper with Anthony’s information on it.

He sighs.

Compared to Anthony’s paper, Kalel’s looks awfully bare.

Ian looks up when he hears his phone buzz, his hand quick to grab it. The disappointment that shoots through his chest surprises him when he sees a text message from Melanie instead of a notification from Anthony.

_Lunch?_

_-Mel_

Ian looks at the mess of papers on his desk, sighing.

_Sure. Usual?_

_-Ian_

The response is quick.

_Meet you there in thirty._

_-Mel_

Ian pockets his phone and starts to organize his things, carefully packing his laptop. He might as well go on this lunch with Melanie and see if she can work her magic.

-.-.-.-

It was Kyle who kissed Ian.

They were the ones in charge of closing the establishment that night. Ian was working at the cashier, packing up the day’s earnings, and Kyle was the one to do a cursory sweep of the floors. When Ian was done putting the money away, he slowly made his way to some of the arcades, bending down to turn them off.

The large room was silent except for the quiet sound of the broom moving across the floor and the humming of the remaining games which were still on. Focused on reaching for the switch at the back of one of the arcades, Ian didn’t notice the way the swish of the broom against the floor stopped, the way Kyle was silent over at the other side of the room.

Slowly, Ian stood up and turned around, his eyes widening when he saw Kyle in front of him, something indiscernible in his green, green eyes.

Time stood still for a moment. It felt like time itself was recognizing the importance of this moment, the crescendo of this melody of theirs, before everything sped up once more, including the beating of his heart.

Kyle kissed Ian.

And it was glorious.

-.-.-.-

Melanie is dressed in her usual suit, her slacks straight-cut and blacker than black. She has her tinted shades perched on top of her head, barely restraining her blonde curls.

Ian feels a little inadequate in his dark wash jeans, blue short-sleeved button-up shirt, and pair of Chucks.

“Geez Melanie, you don’t have to make me feel bad,” he says as he stands up, kissing Melanie on the cheek. He has absolutely no doubt that all the other patrons in this sushi bar simultaneously hate him for managing to have lunch with such a beautiful woman and love him for showing that guys like him have a chance.

Melanie smiles, her eyes crinkling in delight. “Thanks,” she says, sitting down and crossing her legs. “How’s the writing going?”

Ian shrugs, gratefully getting the two menus a passing waiter gives them. “It’s okay.”

Melanie raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” At Ian’s nod, she sighs. “Ian, there’s a reason why I didn’t ask what, or as we both know, _who_ was making you write more, and that was so you could write in peace. I really was supposed to leave you alone, but now that—”

Ian blinks, only just realizing that he had his mouth open as he stared at her and as he heard what she was saying. Closing his mouth, he shakes his head. “What? No!” he interrupts. “I’m still not going to tell you who it is.”

At Melanie’s widening eyes, Ian quickly interrupts her again. “It’s not that,” he hurriedly interjects. “I’m having trouble with a character.”

Melanie tilts her head a bit to the side, confused. “What do you mean you’ve been having trouble with a character?”

“I mean, well, I’ve listed down all the basics and some more, but this character still feels different, and not in a good way,” Ian says, finally looking away from Melanie and focusing on the menu he’s holding in front of him. “What are you getting?”

Melanie takes a cursory look at the menu before saying, “I’ll get the inside-out salmon sushi roll, nigiri sushi, and an iced tea.” She looks over her menu. “You?”

Ian puts his menu down on the table. “Bacon shrimp roll, spicy tuna roll, and a glass of water.”

Nodding, Melanie raises one hand, smiling at the waiter who approaches their table. She quickly orders before focusing once more on Ian, her eyes piercing as they try to understand Ian without making him speak. “What chapter are you on?” she eventually asks.

“Three,” Ian says, leaning back.

“You’re on chapter three and already, this character feels wrong?” Melanie asks, incredulity evident in her voice. “That’s new.”

Ian shrugs. “It is,” he agrees.

This has never happened to him before, and he has published four books.

There’s always a first time for everything, he supposes.

“Well do you have your papers with you? Or your notebook?” Melanie asks, removing her shades from her head. As Ian reaches for his messenger bag, Melanie puts her shades back in their case, taking her reading glasses from her bag right after and putting them on.

“Here,” Ian says, handing her the paper marked with “Kalel Cullen”.

“You know,” Melanie says as she takes the piece of paper Ian hands her, “this might be the universe’s way of telling you to change things up a bit.”

“You and your universe,” Ian says, watching her skim through what’s written.

“Can I see your other lead character’s paper?” she asks, carefully putting Kalel’s paper on the wooden table between them.

“Sure,” Ian says as he reaches for his bag and carefully removes Anthony’s papers.

Melanie raises an eyebrow. “Well the problem may be because your one main character has an entire sheaf of papers, while your other main character has one sad piece of paper,” she says in a knowing manner despite her voice sounding casual to everyone else in their vicinity. “But yeah, I was serious about probably changing things up a bit.”

“Changing things? What do you mean?” he asks, handing her the papers.

Shrugging, Melanie takes the papers. “You’re a gay man who never has two male main characters fall in love with each other in your books.” She looks at him, her gaze assessing. “Don’t you think it’s time for a change?”

Ian blinks, opening his mouth to reply, before abruptly closing it when the waiter from before hands them their drinks.

He watches Melanie put the papers on her lap, watches the waiter put what they ordered on their table, and thinks.

Melanie’s right. He’s never written something like that before.

“I don’t know,” he says when he finds his voice.

Melanie hands him the papers, an understanding smile on her face. She’s like that, Ian knows. She understands. She has understood him for a long time, and she doesn’t look like she’s stopping soon.

“It’s a more modern world now, Ian. People will accept you and what you’ll write,” Melanie says, her hands deftly splitting the chopsticks.

Ian nods, wordless. He looks at his chopsticks and thinks.

Maybe—maybe it’s time for a change.

It isn’t until later, when Ian has paid for their lunch and is on his way to Nerd(ish) when he realizes that Melanie said “you’ll write” like she was sure of what Ian would do.

Well. Melanie _does_ know him.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (2:58 pm)_

_I’m bored. How are you?_

_Andrew M. (3:01 pm)_

_I just had lunch with my best friend. :)_

_Anthony P. (3:02 pm)_

_Should I be jealous?_

_Andrew M. (3:03 pm)_

_We had kick-ass sushi. You should be jealous._

_Anthony P. (3:03 pm)_

_Mhm. I bet._

_Andrew M. (3:05 pm)_

_Have you eaten lunch?_

_Anthony P. (3:06 pm)_

_A quick bite here and there._

_Andrew M. (3:06 pm)_

_You want pizza?_

_Anthony P. (3:07 pm)_

_Hmm, why, are you going to send me some? Do you know where I work?_

_Andrew M. (3:09 pm)_

_You work at Youtube, right? I’m sure I can google your address somewhere._

_Anthony P. (3:10 pm)_

_Seriously?_

_Andrew M. (3:10 pm)_

_What kind do you want?_

_Anthony P. (3:10 pm)_

_Anything._

_Andrew M. (3:13 pm)_

_Okay. I’ll just search for a stock image of pizza before sending it your way._

_Anthony P. (3:14 pm)_

_Damn it._

-.-.-.-

“I will have you know that our meeting went great. Suck it, bitch!”

Ian looks up, smiling when he sees Joven and his overly-pleased looking grin. “How was it?”

Joven sits down, his legs sprawled. “She’s amazing.  I am so, so, so thankful we chose to meet today. Man, she’s great! We’re seeing each other again on Thursday.”

Ian gives him two thumbs up.

“See what happens when I don’t listen to you for love advice?” Joven says, excitement coloring his tone. “I get to meet nice people! You and Mari are poisonous to my love life!”

Ian rolls his eyes. “I’m glad it went well,” he says, sincere.

“I am too,” Joven says, standing up. “I actually can’t believe my luck, man. She’s so awesome.”

Ian watches as Joven walks toward the counter, shaking his head. He forces himself to focus back on what he’s writing and stop thinking about meeting Anthony in person.

Just because Joven got lucky and hit it off with this girl doesn’t mean it will be the same for Ian and Anthony. Sure, because of that Joven and this girl he met online might be able to go on more dates and get to know each other better, but that’s them.

Anyway, there’s still the chance that Anthony is just a lonely old pedophile sitting in front of a computer. Ian really shouldn’t take the chance, especially since this wasn’t initially in his plans.

Right?

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (6:18 pm)_

_Psst._

Ian slowly locks his door, one hand already getting his phone from his pocket as he walks to his couch.

With a sigh, Ian sits down, leaning back against the couch. He smiles when he sees the name.

_Andrew M. (6:21 pm)_

_Psst back._

_Anthony P. (6:22 pm)_

_Let’s go get dinner._

_Andrew M. (6:22 pm)_

_What do you suggest?_

_Anthony P. (6:24 pm)_

_Well, since I don’t think we’ll be meeting each other, we can just eat dinner and talk to each other._

_Andrew M. (6:25 pm)_

_So basically, we’re just eating dinner?_

_Anthony P. (6:27 pm)_

_...Unless you would like to eat dinner with me in a small pizzeria downtown?_

Ian breathes in deep before exhaling slowly through his mouth. He doesn’t stand up to turn the light on. He doesn’t even move to put his bag on another surface. Instead, he stares at the message and smiles sadly, a mockery of what a genuine smile should be.

This is bad. This is so, so bad.

_Andrew M. (6:30 pm)_

_I don’t even know what you look like. Or what you sound like._

_Anthony P. (6:32 pm)_

_I can always rap for you. Since I owe you a lullaby._

Ian looks down.

He already knows what he’s going to say.

_Andrew M. (6:33 pm)_

_Okay._

_Anthony P. (6:34 pm)_

_Great! What topic do you want me to sing about?_

_Andrew M. (6:35 pm)_

_Assassin’s Creed. Do your best. :)_

Ian types down his number and waits.

Why is he doing this again? This could very well be dangerous.

His phone buzzes in his hand and he smiles, immediately taking the call.

“Hello?”

Ian waits.

“Oh thank God you’re actually real.”

Ian laughs. “Hey Anthony,” he says, amused. “How are you?”

“I’m great!” he says, his voice just slightly high and light, happiness radiating from his tone. Anthony clears his throat before speaking in a lower tone, faux-suave. “I mean, I’m great, now that I’m talking to you,” he purrs.

“Very smooth,” Ian comments, a wide grin on his face. He leans further into the couch cushions. “But anyway, Mister P, you owe me a song.”

“Gladly, Mister M,” Anthony replies, and his voice is soothing in a way that Ian’s empty, quiet room used to be and no longer is. “On my count, three, two, one.”

“How many fools can I kill today? Too many to count, don’t get in my way—”

Ian closes his eyes, a smile on his face.

The room is dark, his phone and the brilliant lights outside his window the only source of light.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

-.-.-.-

The problem with changing Kalel into a guy is that it requires him to change _everything_.

“Melanie, listen,” Ian says, pacing back and forth near his desk, “I’m changing her character into a man and I don’t know what to do.”

“Do what you normally do!” Melanie says, and from here Ian can hear the clacking of keys and the constant chatter in the background.

“Yes, but I don’t know where to start,” Ian admits, and he is _this_ close to whining. “Melanie, help me please, I’m begging you.”

Melanie sighs. “All right. Let me talk you through it. Got a pen?”

Ian abruptly sits down, his hands quickly grabbing his notebook and a black ballpoint pen. “Yep.”

“Okay. What are you having trouble with?”

Ian shrugs. “His name, for one. What am I going to call him? I’ve looked at names on baby books and they feel wrong.”

“Well then just name the character after yourself for now.”

Ian stops, his mind unused to just pushing on the brakes after going miles per second during his thinking process.

He can’t do that. He can’t name a character after himself because he’s never done it before. He has always based characters on Mari and Melanie because they are the kind of beauty he would be able to like to know, the kind of grace he would like to have. He has based characters on Joven because he has his romance and his quirkiness and he is interesting in the way Ian is not.

Ian would make a bad character. He is _not_ like Melanie or Mari or Joven, people who are infinitely enigmatic and appealing, as well as characters who are beloved by all who read Ian’s books. He is not meant to be a character because he is meant to be the _writer._ He is meant to be the puppeteer controlling the strings, the photographer not seen in the image, the director behind the scenes, or even the brains behind a masterpiece, but _never_ the star.

There are just some people who are not meant to be in the spotlight.

"I don't know, Mel," Ian says, his voice soft. "You know I never base characters on myself—"

"—I didn't say anything about basing this character on you," Melanie interrupts.

Ian makes an unimpressed look despite knowing that Melanie can't see him. "Melanie, I think we both know what you were planning to do."

Melanie takes a deep breath. Ian can tell that there's going to be some form of lecturing involved. "Look, Ian. I'm not sure why you’re so opposed to this kind of thing. You’re a published author with a fanbase. I’m pretty sure they’ll accept some form of change.”

Ian lets go of the pen and sighs. “I don’t know Mel...I mean, it’s easy to base it on you because I know your traits and faults. Aren’t you worried that if I base one character on myself, I’ll somehow make it into a Mary Sue of some sort?”

“Ian, I think we’re both very much aware of your faults,” Melanie says, her voice soft but knowing. “Look, I’m not even forcing you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. To be honest, some writers would even frown upon basing characters on people they know in real life. What I am saying is, you know, just be open to change.”

Ian looks down at the notebook, looks at the laptop before him, and tries to imagine his name there, or his first name at least.

“Okay,” Melanie says after a few seconds of silence on the line. “I have the feeling that the problem with this character stems from the fact that you don’t know what to name him. I’ll let you think about it, okay?”

Ian nods, barely remembering to reply when he realizes that Melanie can’t see him. “Yeah, sure.”

“And Ian, if you really don’t want to do it, don’t feel forced. Just change the name into Joven or something,” Melanie says, her voice soft.

Ian ends the call.

He needs a distraction.

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (12:13 pm)_

_You know, we didn’t really celebrate our week-versary last night._

_Anthony P. (12:15 pm)_

_I offered to take you out for pizza._

_Anthony P. (12:16 pm)_

_I also sang to you._

_Andrew M. (12:18 pm)_

_Hmm, true. But that also means we’ve known each other for a week and there are still things I don’t know about you._

_Anthony P. (12:20 pm)_

_Well...we’ve only known each other for a week. Once we know each other longer, we’ll know more things._

_Andrew M. (12:21 pm)_

_And what are these things you want to know about?_

_Anthony P. (12:21 pm)_

_What you look like, for starters._

Ian tilts his head, a bright smile on his face.

_Andrew M. (12:22 pm)_

_What, you didn’t check my profile?_

_Anthony P. (12:23 pm)_

_I did, and your picture is an image of a box._

_Andrew M. (12:24 pm)_

_Maybe that’s what I look like in real life._

_Anthony P. (12:25 pm)_

_Hm. It must be hard for you to talk to me then. With the typing and all._

_Andrew M. (12:26 pm)_

_Oh yes, it is. My box fingers are too big for the phone screen._

_Andrew M. (12:27 pm)_

_But anyway, if it makes you feel better, I don’t know how you look either. Your picture is Pikachu._

_Anthony P. (12:28 pm)_

_I can send you a selfie._

_Andrew M. (12:31 pm)_

_How am I going to be sure that the selfie you’ll send me isn’t something you got from google?_

_Anthony P. (12:32 pm)_

_Wait. You’re going to send me a selfie too, right?_

Ian bites his lip, hesitation coursing through his veins. Should he? He swore he would take a step back, and yet here he is, negotiating with Anthony.

He really shouldn’t, he knows, but there’s a voice in his head saying that it’s unfair for him to expect a picture from Anthony without giving one back himself.

Besides, once he sees Anthony’s picture, he’ll be able to see if he guessed right as to what Anthony looks like. It’s better for him to change what Anthony looks like in his book as early as now rather than later, when there are more things to change.

_Andrew M. (12:34 pm)_

_I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours._

_Anthony P. (12:35 pm)_

_Kinky._

_Andrew M. (12:35 pm)_

_You like it._

_Anthony P. (12:38 pm)_

_Of course I do. But yeah, how do we make sure that we don’t send pictures of someone else?_

Ian’s fingers automatically move on their own, and Ian blinks before he sends it.

He can’t believe he’s actually the one to suggest this.

_Andrew M. (12:40 pm)_

_We can maybe do a video chat?_

This is all for his book. What he’s doing is all for the purpose of getting his book written. That’s all.

_Anthony P. (12:41 pm)_

_Later, around eight? Let’s eat dinner?_

Really, it’s all for the purpose of listing down what Anthony really looks like.

_Andrew M. (12:42 pm)_

_What are we eating?_

He just needs to see how Anthony interacts, that’s all.

_Anthony P. (12:43 pm)_

_Sushi? No stock images this time._

It’s all for the purpose of seeing how Anthony would do some basic tasks like eating, really.

_Andrew M. (12:43 pm)_

_Okay. Facetime?_

Ian just needs to know if he pictured the character correctly in his mind.

_Anthony P. (12:44 pm)_

_Yeah. At eight._

He won’t be able to make his character seem real, after all, if he doesn’t see what Anthony looks like, and a picture won’t be enough because then, he wouldn’t really be _sure_.

_Andrew M. (12:45 pm)_

_See you._

Oh, who the fuck is he kidding?

Ian drops his phone on the couch cushions and rubs his face with tired hands.

He is so, so fucked.

-.-.-.-

“Love is a great cup of coffee.”

Ian raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. He directs a hand behind him. “Should I go?”

Nerd(ish) is bare, the only people in the shop being Joven, Ian, and a couple of regulars. It’s the midday lull—most of the other patrons are still at work or at school—and the ones who are in the cafe are, by now, used to Joven’s secretly endearing antics.

Joven, dressed in a dark brown shirt, jeans, and a caramel-colored apron with the shop’s logo in front, has an empty cup in his hand. He looks at Ian and shakes his head. “Nah, come on in.”

Ian looks at the cup, amused. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

Joven gives him an unimpressed look. “Fuck off, man.”

Laughing, Ian walks to the counter. “I’ll have an iced mocha.”

As Joven prepares his drink, Ian pulls out his wallet. “So what’s the continuation of that?”

“What do you mean?” Joven asks, his focus on the blender before him.

“What’s the continuation of that monologue?” Ian asks.

“Oh,” Joven says, shaking some cinnamon on top of the whipped cream. “Love is a great cup of coffee—bitter, yet sweet, a combination of flavors, some good, some bad, yet you would not have it any other way.”

Ian blinks. “Where did this come from?”

“Mimi, the girl I met online? She’s taking contemporary poetry classes, and I thought I would join in,” Joven says, and he looks ready to vibrate out of his skin, his excitement washing over everyone like ocean waves.

Ian smiles, amused. He shakes his head. “You don’t need that, Joven. You’re poetic enough as it is.”

Joven hands him his cup of iced mocha. “You’re just saying that so you can get a discount.”

Laughing, Ian hands him a couple of dollar bills. “There’s no harm in trying, right?”

Joven rolls his eyes and opens the cash register, quickly handing the change right after. “Go write and leave me alone.”

Waving at Joven, Ian goes to his usual spot. He carefully lays his laptop down on the table before putting the change in his wallet.

Once Ian sits, everything is basic to him. He is methodical, and he knows what he has to do first. His hands immediately reach for his laptop case, carefully getting out his laptop and putting it on the table before turning it on. While he waits for it to boot up, he gets the pieces of paper in another pocket in the case, putting them behind the laptop. They are arranged in alphabetical order of the characters’ last names.

Next, he gets his small notebook out and a black ballpoint pen and lays them on the table.

Most of the time, when Ian is writing, he prefers silence. He likes hearing the sound of the keys on the keyboard, the soft sounds of Joven or Mari preparing coffee, the quiet conversations of the people around him. He likes feeling the city, likes the muted sounds of city traffic outside, likes being in the center of it all while being alone in his own little corner at the same time.

Sometimes, however, he feels different. He can’t write without the soothing sounds of rain, or the loud noise of a full cafe. He can’t focus on his dialogue or his characters without hearing familiar songs, and it doesn’t matter whether they are soft or loud, as long as he knows the lyrics to them.

Today, it’s _that_ kind of day.

His mind is doing its best to remind him every three seconds that _yes_ , he is going to have dinner with Anthony later, and that _yes_ , he’s going to finally see what Anthony looks like. Normally, after having all of his stuff prepared on the table, he will be quick to open the word document he is working on and type, but no, not today. Today, he has his word document open on the screen, but his eyes are glazed over as he thinks about what he should wear later.

Ian shakes his head in an effort to chase away the thoughts. His mind is a mess.

The thing is, Ian doesn’t believe in love. He doesn’t believe in those soulmates bullshit, those _“one true love”_ sort of things. He doesn’t believe in stopping breaths or skipping hearts. He _can_ appreciate people who are deeply in love with each other, of course, but he doesn’t believe that it’s a forever kind of thing, or that it affects them as deeply as they make it seem.

The sad thing is, these things—stopping breaths, skipping hearts, _falling in love_ —are the ones he constantly writes about. This is his forte. This is what each one of his book revolves around, and he _doesn’t believe in it_. This is what made the publishing company hesitant about publishing his books, and what had, incidentally, made Melanie want to take him on as a writer. The company didn’t like someone so anti-romance to writing young adult romance, and Melanie, bless her, liked a challenge.

Melanie agreeing to be his editor didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to make jokes, though. For years, she had joked about Ian’s invisible romantic bone. Despite that though, she had helped him every step of the way, pushing him when he needed to be pushed.

This, though—she didn’t push him into _this_. This is entirely his fault. It’s entirely his fault that he cannot focus on writing anything worthwhile because he’s too busy freaking out about his dinner later with Anthony.

He refuses to call it a date.

Sighing, Ian reaches into his pocket for his earphones and plugs them in. He searches for his writing playlist and plays the first song he sees.

He stares at his screen, at the words he had already written, at the words he will need to change. He looks over the blank piece of paper with his name on it, and takes the pen.

He might not be able to write anything plot-wise today, but at least he’ll have a fully-formed character by the time he needs to go to the sushi bar downtown.

-.-.-.-

Ian finished writing what would be his first bestselling book in February.

Kyle had been proud of him and what he had done. He had cooked dinner for the two of them in his small apartment. They had bought cheap candles and even cheaper wine to celebrate something that, in Ian’s mind, wasn’t really worth celebrating.

After all, it wasn’t the first book he finished writing.

Still, he didn’t stop Kyle from cooking for him, or from seducing him into bed.

At that time, they had been dating for five months. Kyle had never taken Ian to a date, nor had he introduced him to his friends as a significant other. Ian, as clueless as he was (and still is) regarding romance, didn’t mind. He didn’t care that Kyle always wanted them to stay inside the apartment instead of going on a real date. He didn’t care that Kyle always treated him like a friend at Chuck E Cheese—he thought it was actually a smart move, considering that they worked together and should at least maintain some degree of professionalism.

It had been Kyle who urged him to go get his book published. He had been supportive of Ian’s work, being an artist himself. He had been the one to look at viable options for a publishing company, had been the one to make Ian believe in himself and his writing.

Ian guesses that, if one actually looks at it in a certain way, Kyle had also been the one responsible for making Ian and Melanie meet.

After the meeting with some of the higher-ups, Ian had been directed to Melanie. The first time he saw her, he had been slightly awestruck by the way she held herself. Back then, she had just been one of the junior editors. She was fresh from school, but she was one of the best editors they had, and even back then, a lot of them knew Melanie was going to go far.

Of course, he didn’t know these things when he stepped into her small office. He only knew that she was a junior editor—already promoted from an associate editor even at her age—and he knew that there was a small chance that she would take him on. He didn’t expect her to look like a CEO, though, nor did he expect her to ask for his manuscript before even talking to him, but he did was she asked.

Melanie was the kind of person who wanted to keep everything short. She was quick to the point, and she asked him questions that were harder than those asked by the higher ups. The whole _“meeting”_ actually felt more of a job interview.

By the end of it all, however, he felt a little better. He knew that Melanie wouldn’t ask for his manuscript if she truly wasn’t interested, or if she truly believed that him not believing too much in romance—something that he had idiotically let slip during his meeting with the higher ups—was going to be a problem.

Kyle had asked him how it went. Kyle had kissed him, had hugged him, had told him he believed in him and in all he could do.

When Melanie called Ian not even a week later to tell him she was interested in becoming his editor, Kyle was the first one to congratulating him.

But even that event was not enough to merit a date.

-.-.-.-

_Anthony P. (5:36 pm)_

_Are you excited?_

Ian looks at his phone, his lips twisting into a small smile.

He glances at the bag of sushi in his left hand.

Their dinner is at eight, and he already bought the sushi. Excited doesn’t even cover it.

That doesn't mean Ian can't have a little fun, though.

_Andrew M. (5:39 pm)_

_Why, are we doing something special today?_

_Anthony P. (5:39 pm)_

_:(_

_Andrew M. (5:40 pm)_

_Don't be sad, I bought you sushi._

_Anthony P. (5:41 pm)_

_I’m on my way to buy your sushi._

Ian allows a smile to show on his face. He closes the door behind him and locks it, passing his living room and heading towards the kitchen to put the sushi on the granite counter.

_Andrew M. (5:43 pm)_

_Stop talking to me, look at where you’re going, and go buy my sushi._

_Anthony P. (5:44 pm)_

_I would, but it’s much more fun talking to you._

Ian leans his hip against the counter.

He feels so much like a teenager finally talking to his crush. Ian knows Melanie would pay good money to see him like this, in his _unnatural habitat_.

_Andrew M. (5:45 pm)_

_So you would rather talk to me now, than see my face later?_

_Andrew M. (5:46 pm)_

_I’m not accepting your Facetime request without seeing sushi._

_Anthony P. (5:47 pm)_

_Okay, so who are you dating here? The sushi or me?_

Ian has to bite his lip to stop himself from grinning too widely.

_Andrew M. (5:48 pm)_

_We’re dating? I was really just in it for the sushi._

_Anthony P. (5:49 pm)_

_You break my heart. </3_

Shaking his head, Ian continues to type.

_Andrew M. (5:50 pm)_

_Where are you getting your sushi?_

_Anthony P. (5:51 pm)_

_White Lily. It’s this great sushi bar just a short ride away from my office._

Ian knows where it is. It’s where he and Melanie had lunch a couple of days ago, and it’s where he bought the sushi he will be eating later.

To think that if only he had waited a couple more minutes before getting his sushi, he could have seen Anthony in person...

Ian shakes his head. He can’t think about that now. It doesn’t change things, anyway, considering that he’ll still see Anthony later.

_Andrew M. (5:52 pm)_

_Now go order. I’m going to go take a shower._

_Anthony P. (5:53 pm)_

_Just so you know, I would love to get in that shower with you._

_Andrew M. (5:54 pm)_

_I hate shower sex._

_Anthony P. (5:55 pm)_

_Why?_

_Andrew M. (5:55 pm)_

_It’s slippery and there’s just constant water._

_Anthony P. (5:56 pm)_

_I can make you change your mind, if you’d let me._

Ian shakes his head, amused.

_Andrew M. (5:57 pm)_

_Go order. I’ll see you later._

-.-.-.-

Eight o’ clock comes by a lot slower than Ian had anticipated.

By the time the arm on the clock indicates that it’s seven thirty, Ian has already showered, dressed, and prepared the sushi on the small coffee table in front of his leather couch. He has spent ten minutes worrying about what cologne he should use before remembering that whatever he uses will have no effect anyway, and has spent about twenty wondering if he should call Melanie up and ask for advice.

Ian watches the arm turn. Seven thirty-one.

Maybe he should try and write something while he’s waiting.

Ian looks at the laptop case just one feet away from him, on the corner of the sofa, and shakes his head. He already knows that he won’t be able to write anything substantial.

Maybe—maybe he should talk to Anthony?

No, he shouldn’t. He would look too excited, and he guesses that’s a bad thing. Melanie would tell him to be cool and to be as nonchalant as possible if they are at all possible.

Maybe he should take a nap?

He doesn’t want to miss this, though, and besides, his shirt would have creases.

Fuck it.

Ian grabs his phone and sends a message before he can doubt himself.

_Andrew M. (7:33 pm)_

_Hey. Are you there?_

Ian only has to wait a few seconds.

_Anthony P. (7:34 pm)_

_Oh thank god._

_Andrew M. (7:34 pm)_

_?_

_Anthony P. (7:36 pm)_

_I was thinking of possibly chatting with you now, but I was concerned that I would look too excited._

Ian grins.

_Andrew M. (7:37 pm)_

_Me too._

_Anthony P. (7:37 pm)_

_So...can we start?_

_Andrew M. (7:38 pm)_

_Got your sushi ready?_

_Anthony P. (7:38 pm)_

_Of course._

Ian only has to wait for a few seconds, before Anthony’s name appears on his screen. He smiles before he accepts the Facetime request.

Anthony is.. _.gorgeous._

There is no other way to say it. He has dark brown—almost black—hair that looks wavy and is parted to the side which makes Ian’s fingers itch to be able to card themselves through them and see just how soft they are. He has beautiful brown eyes that look like they have a hint of olive green in them—or maybe that’s just the writer in Ian talking.

Even his eyebrows, straight and thick, look attractive.

His jawline is sharp and adorned with light stubble, and his lips, pale red, look soft and inviting.

“Wow,” Ian finally says after a few seconds of looking at this man’s face. His imagination of what Anthony looks like pales in comparison to what Anthony actually looks like.

Ian imagines that even this will pale in comparison to actually seeing Anthony in person.

Anthony smiles, and it’s beautiful in the way that Ian wants to commit it to his memory forever, the way Anthony’s lips curl softly, the way his eyes crinkle in delight, showing small bags under his eyes—the effects of being up working, Ian has no doubt—and the way a light blush appears on his cheeks, as pink as his lips.

"I can say the same thing about you," Anthony says, and his eyes are earnest.

Ian could lose himself in those eyes.

Ian smiles. "Well you're quite the charmer, aren't you?"

Anthony raises an eyebrow, and Ian is amazed at how just one small quirk of the eyebrow can make Anthony seem comical. "And you aren't?"

Smirking, Ian puts his phone on his table, leaning it against an empty glass. "Nah, I'm only here for the sushi, remember?"

Anthony laughs, and Ian feels his heart flutter in his chest like it doesn't know whether it's supposed to fall or float. Anthony laughs in this surprised way, his laugh high in tone before fading into a quiet chuckle, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Ian watches him as he tries to get his laughter under control, smiling at how adorable he looks. “Ah yes, who am I to get in between you and sushi’s great love affair?”

Ian shrugs, trying his best to school his face into something that is at least a little bit serious. “You have overestimated your abilities in breaking up affairs.”

Anthony laughs, one hand appearing in the screen as he takes a sushi roll from the plate with his wooden chopsticks. “Then let me try harder,” he says, looking at the sushi with a comical angry look, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares the sushi down. “First bite!” he says in such a loud voice it startles Ian a bit, before putting the entire sushi in his mouth.

Ian shakes his head, amused. Anthony raises an eyebrow at him, an expectant look on his face. “What?” Ian asks, at first confused, before realization dawns on him and he shakes his head. “Nope, I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?” Anthony asks, genuine confusion written all over his face. “It’s fun!”

Ian looks at Anthony’s face, all hopeful and happy, before shrugging. He doesn’t really have a chance of ever turning him down. With deft fingers, he arranges his chopsticks before taking a piece of sushi. “First bite!” he says in as loud a volume as he can, before putting the entire thing in his mouth.

Anthony grins at him, his cheeks bulging with unchewed food, no doubt.

Ian looks at Anthony, looks at the glass windows behind him, the beautiful background consisting of the high buildings and the colorful lights against the dark Los Angeles sky, and wonders how the hell he got so lucky to be able to meet this guy.

Ian’s smile falters, though thankfully Anthony doesn’t notice. What did Joven say, again?

_Don’t fall in love with someone you meet online._

“So, this is our first official date,” Anthony says, his chocolate eyes intent on Ian’s, “what do you want to do?”

Ian takes another piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “Well, we’re eating dinner. That’s what good first dates include, right?”

Anthony shrugs, chewing his food thoroughly before answering him. “Well yes, but I want this to be great one.”

Ian looks down, trying to think first before speaking, before looking up again, straight into Anthony’s brown eyes. “It already is,” he says, meaning every word. “I can’t ask for anything better.”

Anthony sends him a half-bashful smile, and Ian wants so very badly to be there beside Anthony, basking in the warmth he no doubt will feel once he sees Anthony’s smile directed to him in person. Anthony’s eyes are alight, a dimple appearing on his left cheek near his lips.

After a few seconds of silence, both of them taking the time to eat and just look at each other silently, both not fully believing that this entire thing is real, Anthony finally speaks.

“Look,” he says, and Ian looks up from his food, “I love this, I really do, but I would love the opportunity to be able to meet you in person.”

Ian’s throat is suddenly parched. He doesn’t think he can speak, not now that he is put on the spot.

Whatever happened to taking a step back?

Ian swallows past the lump in his throat, willing the words to come to him. “I don’t know,” he says softly, hesitantly. He _does_ know, actually. He knows that he wants to meet Anthony in real life, that he wants to see him and revel in his presence. He wants to smell what cologne Anthony uses. He wants to feel Anthony’s hand in his, wants to feel Anthony’s fingers intertwined with Ian’s, wants to feel Anthony’s lips against his, hungry, desperate, demanding for more. He wants to feel Anthony’s arms around him as he hugs him, wants to feel Anthony’s gaze on him from afar.

He wants to hear Anthony’s voice, unmodulated by microphones in their phones. He wants to see Anthony’s eyes, wants the opportunity to be able to be close to him to see the vibrant specks of brown in Anthony’s eyes. He wants to be able to share space and air with this man, this man he has only known for less than a month.

Ian blinks, and the world is rearranged.

He doesn’t know this, or how this works. He doesn’t know how to exist in a world where he feels this strongly for someone else. Kyle, as wonderful as he was, was never like this—like Anthony. Ian never felt the desire to linger in his presence, and he had worked with the man for a long time.

He hasn’t even seen Anthony in real life, yet.

Anthony looks...crestfallen. His eyes, losing the bright shine Ian has already fallen in love with.

Ian never had a chance.

“Okay,” he says, a small smile appearing on his lips. He watches with satisfaction as Anthony smiles, happy and eager and everything Ian wants him to be, his dimple visible as he grins widely.

Okay.

He’s okay with this, he thinks.

He looks at Anthony happily talking to him about when they should meet, his hands moving around to help illustrate his point, and he knows.

He’s in deep.

-.-.-.-

It's Thursday.

Ian and Anthony had agreed to meet at Nerd(ish) on Saturday, at around eleven o’clock so they can grab some lunch.

It’s only Thursday, and already Ian is panicking about what he should do to prepare for his actual date with Anthony, his mind already going through all the clothes he owns. The worrying has come to the point where he has to stop himself from thinking about buying something new to wear on Saturday every few hours.

The dinner last night was great. After agreeing to meet up on Saturday, they had continued to talk until it was one in the morning and Anthony had to break their conversation, regretfully saying that he had to work the next day. Ian had nodded and they had smiled at each other before ending the video chat.

Ian fell asleep with a smile on his face.

What would it be like, Ian wonders, to actually fall asleep next to Anthony?

_Anthony P. (10:37 am)_

_I’m still sleepy and tired._

Ian turns, enjoying the way the sheets feel pleasantly cool against his skin. He looks at the screen with bleary eyes and smiles when he finally reads what Anthony has said.

_Andrew M. (10:39 pm)_

_What, do you regret staying up late and talking to me?_

_Anthony P. (10:39 pm)_

_Never._

_Andrew M. (10:40 pm)_

_Good. I don’t regret it either._

_Anthony P. (10:41 pm)_

_You shouldn’t. That was amazing sushi._

Ian laughs, rolling his eyes.

Trust Ian to fall for someone as ridiculous as him.

_Andrew M. (10:42 pm)_

_Ah yes, the best part was the sushi._

_Anthony P. (10:43 pm)_

_I knew I shouldn’t have left you two alone._

_Andrew M. (10:44 pm)_

_Man, go and work._

_Anthony P. (10:45 pm)_

_Okay. Take care of yourself. :)_

Ian smiles, and it’s a soft one, the kind that he reserves for the times when he feels so very content with what he has managed to get or establish for himself.

_Andrew M. (10:45 pm)_

_Take care of yourself too. :)_

Ian takes a deep breath and sits up slowly, taking the time to stretch his arms. It’s not quite morning—it’s actually nearly lunch time—but the bright Los Angeles skyline still looks beautiful. The sky is blue, the clouds are magnificently white and fluffy-looking, and Ian feels like he is in the center of it all.

Today’s going to be a good day.

-.-.-.-

Ian takes a glance at the open word document on his laptop and sighs. He already knows he’s not going to be able to focus.

“Hey Joven?” he says, waving at Joven who is just a couple of tables away from him, wiping a table with a blue and white checkered piece of cloth.

“Hm?” Joven asks, not looking at him.

“How did you know it was the right time to meet Mimi in person?”

Joven stops wiping the table, looks at Ian, before shaking his head, his lips quirking into a small amused smile. He leaves the towel on the table before walking towards Ian’s table, turning the empty seat around so he can sit on it the opposite way, with the back in front of him.

“I think I told you not to fall in love with someone you meet online,” Joven says, and his voice is soft, yet grave.

Ian blinks. “I haven’t—” he starts to say, but Joven shakes his head and interrupts him.

“Are you sure?” Joven asks, the smile gone. “Because from what I can see, here you are, suddenly having a writer’s block after days of productivity which, by the way, only came after months of writer’s block.”

Ian furrows his eyebrows, a frustrated look starting to present itself on his face. “Writers are allowed to fall out of flow. People don’t get to dictate when we’ll be able to write or not.”

“People don’t,” Joven agrees. “Muses do.”

Ian looks down at the sheaf of papers dedicated to his character “Anthony”.

Why is he even disagreeing with Joven? Joven’s right.

“How do I stop?” Ian asks as Joven stands up from his seat.

Joven tilts his head. “You don’t. But if you’re really determined, don’t meet up with him. You’ll only fall in harder.”

Ian blinks. He doesn’t think he can stop that now. “How come you met up with Mimi?”

Joven drops back into his seat. “Look, Ian. I’m not famous. However,” he says, gesturing at Ian, “you are. And the last romantic relationship you had was with Kyle, which was a long time ago. Now you’re asking me how I knew it was the right time to meet Mimi in person, which I don’t know why you would ask except if you too have your own little online romance, so you must have that. This online romance must be new, if you’re asking me about whether or not you should see him in person.” Joven tilts his head, an assessing look in his eyes. “Because he’s new, he must also be behind your writing flow. But anyway, since you’ve been writing practically nonstop and because you didn’t tell us about this guy earlier, I would have to assume that you got into this involuntarily or that you did something you are ashamed of.”

Understanding sparkles in Joven’s eyes. “Online anonymity—it’s easy to drown in it. You lied to him, didn’t you?”

Ian ignores the hot curl of shame in his belly, or at least tries to. “You got all that from what I just asked you?” Ian asks, incredulity evident in his tone.

Joven looks at him from toe to head, assessing. “I knew it was the right time to meet Mimi, because we both wanted to.” Standing up, he looks at Ian with a kind but sad smile on his face. “Meet him in person, Ian, and tell him the truth.”

Ian bites his lip. He knows he should do what Joven told him to, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it. He doesn’t want to see the look of disappointment on Anthony’s face as he tells him everything.

Ian closes his eyes and rubs his face with both hands.

Joven can be so damn introspective sometimes.

-.-.-.-

Saturday comes a lot sooner than Ian had expected it to. Apparently, dread can make a lot of things go faster.

For the past two days, Ian had been trying to inject his new character into the storyline while trying to think about what he will finally do when he sees Anthony in person. In the mornings, he would do his best to work on his book, and in the evenings, he would talk with Anthony.

Ian had opted against video chat, saying that he would rather wait and see Anthony in person. It was a lousy excuse, but Anthony had given him a smiley.

Ian feels like he’s about to be marching to his death. He didn’t imagine this experiment of his to go this far, or that he would fail in taking a step back. Now, it seems like everything is so much more fragile, like anything can be crumbled by a mere gust of wind. Ian had built truths upon lies, and he knows that these won’t last.

When they inevitably fall, he knows he will fall with them.

Taking one last look at the mirror, Ian nods to himself. He has his light blue short-sleeved button-up, a pair of jeans, and a pair of brown loafers on. He has spent too long on his trying to fix his hair and has spent even longer just trying to decide which cologne he should use.

Sighing, Ian makes his way out of the apartment, making sure that he has his keys, wallet, and phone in his pockets.

It’s ten forty-five. Ian arrives at Nerd(ish) at ten fifty-five with a sense of dread taking root in his heart. Anthony is already there when he arrives, at a small table inside near the large glass windows in the front, looking impossibly gorgeous as he sips at his navy blue mug. The sun is kind on him, light seemingly haloing him.

Ian blinks.

He doesn’t think Anthony will ever stop taking his breath away.

Taking a deep inhale, Ian nods to himself before entering the cafe. The moment the bell above the door clangs, Anthony’s eyes go to him, and he finds himself arrested by those very eyes.

A smile finds its way onto his face, and he walks towards Anthony’s table. Anthony is wearing a plaid long-sleeved button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, his hair parted to the side like before. As he walks, he takes a glance at the counter and finds Joven, a small smile on his face, giving him two thumbs up.

“Hi,” Anthony says almost breathlessly. He stands up and tries to kiss Ian on the cheek, but Ian accidentally turns his head at the wrong—or perhaps, the _right_ —moment, and Anthony’s lips touch Ian’s lips instead.

Ian is right. They are soft, and even with Anthony’s lips sealed, Ian can taste the bittersweet flavor of coffee.

Anthony’s hands make their way to the sides of Ian’s face, taking their time to touch and memorize the texture of Ian’s skin before making their way to the back of his head, the fingers carding through Ian’s hair. Ian is hyperaware of every touch, of every second their lips are still pressed against each other.

Ian allows his hand to clutch at Anthony’s shoulder. They have a slight height difference and Ian has to look up for this to work, but it works _perfectly_.

After a few seconds, they separate, and they both open their eyes. This close, Ian can see that no, there aren’t really any specks of green in his eyes, but they are, instead, vibrant and warm. Chocolate brown, there really is no chance of the crappy cameras ever getting their color right.

“Hi,” Ian says, his voice quiet. He doesn’t look away from Anthony’s eyes. “You look great.”

Anthony smiles at him. “So do you.”

Ian smiles at him, overwhelmed by the way his heart is doing cartwheels in his chest. “Where are we eating?”

“Well,” Anthony says, his hands falling away from the back of Ian’s head, “I wanted to bring you to this pizzeria, remember?” He reaches for the hand Ian still has on Anthony’s shoulder, and holds it with his, their fingers intertwining. Ian has to bite his lip to keep from grinning too widely.

Anthony’s hands aren’t too soft, nor are they too rough.

“Bring me to this pizzeria then,” Ian says, a happy smile on his face.

Anthony’s hand leaves Ian’s and snakes around Ian’s waist, bringing him closer to Anthony so Anthony could press a kiss against the side of his forehead. “Let’s go.”

-.-.-.-

The pizzeria is small, but cozy.

It’s packed, but somehow Anthony manages to get a table for them—“I’m friends with the owner,” he says before leading Ian to a small table near the back, allowing them some privacy.

The scent of freshly-baked pizza wafts from the kitchen, and Ian is reminded that he is absolutely _starving_ , having been too worried earlier to stomach eating breakfast.

“So,” Ian says as he sits down on a small metallic seat, “since you’re the one who said you wanted to meet me, do I pass your expectations?”

Anthony furrows his eyebrows, a comical look of thoughtfulness on his face. “Let me think,” he says in a joking manner, his eyes alight with happiness.

Ian shakes his head. “Oh come on,” he laughs as he rolls his eyes.

Anthony’s entire face changes, his smile turning into a kind, happy one, indescribable fondness making a home in his eyes. “Of course,” he says sincerely, his voice low.

Ian thinks he could listen to that melodic voice for a long time.

“How about me? Do I pass your expectations?” Anthony asks, an eyebrow raised.

Ian frowns, but makes sure to make it look as ridiculous as he can make it look. “Nah, man. I’m only dating you for the sushi, remember? And there’s no sushi!”

Anthony laughs.

Ian turns his frown into a smile, putting his hand on the table. “Of course,” he says, his voice soft.

Anthony smiles at him, his hand finding its way to the table to hold Ian’s hand.

Everything feels, to be honest, scarily perfect. Ian is afraid he will ruin everything, will dirty pristine white, will break expensive crystal, with his words, his lies.

Anthony is perfect.

Ian wishes he met him in a different way.

Ian isn’t the romantic type, but even as he and Anthony are silently looking at their menus, he feels his heart swell and his cheeks ache with the ache of smiling too much. This—this is what his characters must feel like when they meet the right person in his books.

How will Ian even translate this indescribable feeling of lightness into words? Initially, the whole purpose of this was to be able to improve his writing, but now that he knows what romance is like, he thinks he will forever be disappointed by the way his writing cannot ever hope to reality.

After they order, Ian has to stop himself from just blurting out the truth like he wants to. The entire restaurant is full and alive with chatter, and as much as Ian wants to get the entire thing out in the open, he doesn’t want to ruin these people’s moods.

“What have you got planned for us today?” he asks instead.

Anthony shrugs. “You wanted a geeky first date, right?”

Ian’s eyes widen. “We’re going to your apartment?”

Anthony turns shy, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. “If you don’t want to, we can always do something else,” he quickly backtracks.

“No, no,” Ian says, a kind smile on his face. “That’s perfect, really.”

It is.

It’s almost _too_ perfect, Ian thinks as he walks into Anthony’s apartment, just a few blocks away from the pizzeria owned by his friend named David. There are hardwood floors everywhere except the kitchen and bathroom—tiled—and the bedroom—carpeted. Chrome and aluminium appliances dominate the kitchen, while an expensive-looking entertainment system dominates the living room. A simple-looking wooden table with four seats is placed near large windows that offer an exquisite view of the city.

“You have a beautiful apartment,” Ian says truthfully after the mini-tour is done.

“Thanks,” Anthony says, a bashful smile on his face. “I wasn’t sure about bringing you here, you know,” he admits.

Ian allows himself to press a kiss to Anthony’s cheek. “Well I’m glad you did.”

Anthony grins at him. “Make yourself at home,” he says, before grabbing the remote on the small glass table in front of the dark brown leather couch. He turns on the television before walking towards the kitchen.

“You know,” Ian says as he sits down on the couch, “I’m still expecting you to remove a mask and reveal yourself to be an old man or something.”

He hears Anthony’s laugh all the way from the living room. “You’re ridiculous,” Anthony shouts from the kitchen.

“So are you,” Ian shouts back. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”

Anthony appears, his hands full with a tray of chips, some pieces of bread, a few pieces of donuts, and two bowls of salad. “I remember.”

At Ian’s inquisitive look towards the tray, Anthony shrugs. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got everything I could.”

Ian knows now that he isn’t the only one who was excited. It’s a great feeling, he thinks as he watches Anthony sit down beside him, to know that he has made someone look forward to meeting him in person, to know that he has at least this much of an effect on a person.

Remember what Ian has said about time going by fast when a person dreads something?

It’s nothing compared to how time goes by when Ian is finally enjoying himself. Too soon, Ian is walking towards the door of Anthony’s apartment, getting ready to leave.

Anthony has proven himself to be skilful, often beating him at Smash Bros, but Ian has shown that he was clearly the one better at Halo.

As Ian turns to face Anthony, he thinks he should probably just blurt the truth out and get it over with, like ripping a bandage. However, when he finally sees Anthony, his eyes bright with happiness, the beautiful view of the Los Angeles sky behind him, he snaps.

Ian reaches for Anthony with two hands and kisses him hard, his tongue immediately asking for permission to enter. Ian feels Anthony’s hands make their way around his waist, and he smiles into the kiss.

The door slams closed behind him as Anthony kisses him deeper, his tongue swirling around Ian’s. This is hungry and this is passionate and this is everything Ian thought it would be and _more_.

“Sexy times?” Anthony asks breathlessly, a smile on his lips.

Ian grins. Anthony remembers what they talked about, apparently.

“Of course.”

-.-.-.-

Ian wakes up in slow increments.

He is lying on his front, the sheets covering his lower back. He feels warm and content in this small little world of theirs, and he smiles, turning his head to look at Anthony who is also lying on his front.

“What time is it?” he asks slowly, sleep still clinging to him.

Anthony smiles at him, bright and happy. He looks fully awake, though he doesn’t look like he has been out of bed. His hair is messy and a lot curlier than last night and he has stubble, but he looks more gorgeous than ever. “It’s six thirty,” he says in a soft voice, as if he’s afraid of breaking the quiet stillness that has fallen upon them. “There’s still time to get breakfast.”

Ian smiles, content. “I would love to get some breakfast. I can cook,” he offers.

Anthony shakes his head. “I didn’t prepare for this, so I don’t really have much in here.”

Ian looks at Anthony, still naked, the sheets only covering his lower half. He remembers touching the muscles of his arms, kissing him deeply as he allowed himself to feel Anthony’s abdomen, and he has to stop himself from licking his lips. “You didn’t prepare for this, yet you just happened to have lube and condoms?” Ian jokes.

Anthony grins, turning to his side. “What can I say? I have my priorities in order.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he says.

He feels so light, he thinks he could possibly float. As the sunlight streams through the light blue curtains, Ian realizes that he and Anthony are in the center of the bed.

Anthony smiles, oblivious, before kissing his bare shoulder. “I’ll be back soon, okay? I’ll just grab something,” he says softly, allowing his lips to touch Ian’s skin as they move.

 “Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

Anthony gets out of bed, quickly finding his scattered clothing. After getting dressed and after quickly finger-combing his hair, he grins one last time at Ian before leaving.

Ian sighs happily before allowing his eyes to slide closed.

He sleeps, content.

-.-.-.-

When Ian next wakes up, one words reverberates in his head.

Fuck.

Panicking, Ian stands up, quickly looking for his pants. He finds his boxers near the bedroom door and his pants in the living room, and he puts them on, not bothering with his shirt. He looks for his phone in his pocket.

It’s seven o’clock.

Melanie would be awake by now, he thinks.

Quickly calling her, Ian paces back and forth, looking at the view of Los Angeles Anthony has in this beautiful apartment. Somewhere out there, Melanie would be awake and having her breakfast.

“Hello?”

“Melanie!” Ian says, relieved. “I fucked something up.”

He hears Melanie’s sigh. “What did you do?”

“Remember when you asked me who is inspiring me?” Ian asks, his voice getting progressively louder as panic grips his entire being. “Well, his name is Anthony, and I met him online.” Ian stops pacing, choosing to face the open door leading to Anthony’s bedroom. “You told me to try something new so I could get something done, and I thought that by meeting someone new I will be able to write again, and I was right. I wrote again, didn’t I? Now, I’m in his apartment and he just left to buy us breakfast, and I feel bad because I lied to him, I mean, he doesn’t even know my name!” Ian rambles, one hand reaching up to card fingers through his hair. “He’s perfect, and he’s lovely, but I’ve been lying to him since day one. He doesn’t know my real name, and he doesn’t know that I started chatting to him because I needed to write, and this is a problem because now, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Ian sighs. “Melanie,” he says, turning around, wanting to pace again. His heart falls as he sees Anthony standing by the door, two cups of coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag in another.

Ian swallows past the lump in his throat. “I think I love him,” he whispers, his eyes on Anthony’s.

For a moment, everything is silent. Even Melanie seems to know the gravity of this, because she is silent on the line as well.

“I need to go,” Ian says, ignoring Melanie’s “—wait!” and ending the call. He doesn’t look away from Anthony’s arresting gaze.

Anthony blinks, nodding slowly to himself. “I bought you breakfast,” he says, his voice cracked and his eyes filled with pain. He walks to the living room, putting the cups of coffee and the paper bag on the low glass table. “I’m,” Anthony says, before swallowing. He bites his lip. “I’m just going to go.”

“Anthony,” Ian says, wanting Anthony to stay here so they can _fix this_ , get everything _right_ again, but Anthony shakes his head. “I’m going,” he says, his voice low. “Please don’t follow me.”

Anthony walks toward the door, his movements stiff, like he is one small movement away from lashing out. “Also,” he says, turning around to meet Ian’s gaze, “I would appreciate it if you’ll be gone by the time I’m back.”

With a heavy heart, Ian nods.

The door slams closed.

Ian buries his face in his hands.

-.-.-.-

When Kyle had met Melanie, he had asked Ian to introduce him as a friend instead of a boyfriend.

This should have been the first clue. Ian should have noticed.

Melanie certainly did.

However, Ian _didn’t_ , and this only became one problem buried underneath many others.

When Ian had started to question why Kyle didn’t want to go on dates, Kyle started to become angrier, started to become less calm around Ian.

Kyle had finally snapped when Ian had asked him to go on a date. He had started talking about how Ian wasn’t really his boyfriend, about how Ian was only deluding himself because of course Kyle was into girls.

Ian hadn’t understood. They had been together for six months, almost seven, and now Kyle was talking about how they weren’t really together because homosexuality was a sin.

Kyle was the one to break up with him. He gave him two hours to pack his things and go.

Melanie had been the one to take him in. She had known Kyle would do this, of course, because she was smart like that. Ian hadn’t expected this to happen because he, as always, was clueless.

Ian had removed Kyle’s name from the dedication part of his book.

And that had been that.

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (8:04 am)_

_Anthony, I’m sorry._

_Andrew M. (8:05 am)_

_Please come back. I’m leaving your apartment._

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (9:16 am)_

_I’m sorry. Please talk to me._

_Andrew M. (9:17 am)_

_I’ll explain everything._

_Andrew M. (9:18 am)_

_If you have any questions, I’ll answer them all. I promise._

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (10:31 am)_

_My real name is Ian Hecox._

_Andrew M. (10:32 am)_

_I’m not an editor, I’m a writer. You probably heard everything that I said to my best friend over the phone._

_Andrew M. (10:33 am)_

_It begun as a way for me to try and get my writer’s block gone, but I promise you, it’s now more than that._

_Andrew M. (10:35 am)_

_Anthony? I swear everything I said besides those are true._

Ian takes a deep breath.

Go big or go home, right?

_Andrew M. (10:36 am)_

_I do think I love you._

_Andrew M. (10:37 am)_

_Talk to me when you can. Please._

_Andrew M. (10:38 am)_

_I’ll be waiting._

-.-.-.-

Ian tries to joke, but it falls flat.

_Andrew M. (11:32 am)_

_I’m leaving you for sushi._

It isn’t as funny as when Anthony is there to reply.

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (1:06 pm)_

_Anthony, please give me a chance._

_Andrew M. (1:07 pm)_

_I’ll explain everything, I promise._

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (3:05 pm)_

_I’m a writer, not an editor._

_Andrew M. (3:06 pm)_

_You can talk to me anytime, I promise. I don’t have work._

_Andrew M. (3:08 pm)_

_I can’t write anyway, because it feels so wrong._

_Andrew M. (3:10 pm)_

_Please._

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (5:57 pm)_

_You made me believe in romance again, you know that?_

_Andrew M. (5:58 pm)_

_Please don’t make me unbelieve in it._

-.-.-.-

_Andrew M. (7:02 pm)_

_My friends all think I deserve it._

_Andrew M. (7:04 pm)_

_I should have told you earlier, really, but I had such an awesome time with you._

_Andrew M. (7:05 pm)_

_I didn’t want to ruin our date._

-.-.-.-

Ian feels absolutely heartsick.

It’s evening, and there are scattered takeaway containers of sushi around him. He has no light turned on, his limbs refusing to cooperate with him.

His phone buzzes.

_Anthony P. (10:40 pm)_

_Fuck you._

_Andrew M. (10:40 pm)_

_I deserve that._

_Andrew M. (10:41 pm)_

_I’m sorry, Anthony._

_Andrew M. (10:41 pm)_

_Can I call you?_

_Anthony P. (10:42 pm)_

_I probably shouldn’t, but okay._

His heart in his throat, Ian quickly looks for Anthony’s number, his fingers easily pressing the button. He wants to stand up and start pacing, but he resists the urge, choosing instead to sit up straighter.

“Hey,” Anthony says, sounding tired.

Ian’s breath leaves him. “Hey back,” he says softly, not wanting to break this fragile understanding between them. He swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that too many times,” Anthony says.

“I know,” Ian says, nodding to himself. “I will say it more if only you’ll give me the chance.”

Anthony sighs, and Ian’s heart falls.

Please, let this not be the end. Please, please, _please_.

“I shouldn’t, really, but I want this to work.”

Ian smiles, relieved. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Kinky.”

Ian laughs.

They’ll be okay.

-.-.-.-

Ian didn’t want to do this, but Melanie insisted.

Ian sighs, looking at the book in his hands. He’s in a quickly filling Barnes and Noble, about to do a reading of his newest book. He has changed a lot since writing this book, and to be honest, this whole finally revealing his face to the world thing is one change too much. He doesn’t really feel as confident as he probably should considering that he’s the writer, and he thinks that his privacy will be dead after this.

Anthony has understood, of course. He has been perfect.

“Melanie,” Ian says as he catches Melanie on her way to the front of the room, “I don’t think I’ll be able to do this.”

Melanie, in her white and gray ensemble, looks gorgeous as always. She’s still as graceful as ever, and Ian feels a little too shabby at his own event. “You’ll be great,” she says, one hand reaching to straighten his collar.

“What if I mess up reading something?” Ian asks.

Melanie smiles at him, kind. “They won’t care. They’ve been dying to meet you for years. Just relax, okay? If everything feels too much, Anthony and I are right here.”

Ian’s eyes widen. “Anthony’s here? I thought he had work?”

Melanie winks at him, before going to the makeshift stage. She taps on the microphone, a smile on her face.

Ian’s phone buzzes in his pocket. With clammy hands, he reaches for it with the hand that isn’t occupied with holding his newest book.

_Anthony P. (10:28 am)_

_Hi._

Smiling, Ian types. He is a bit confused as to why Anthony’s using the dating website’s app instead of texting him, but he doesn’t care.

_Andrew M. (10:29 am)_

_Hello. :) How are you?_

_Anthony P. (10:30 am)_

_I’m great! The publishing company just announced the release dates for Andrew Hecox’s newest book. I am so friggin’ excited!_

Surprised, Ian laughs.

This dork, he thinks as he shakes his head.

_Andrew M. (10:31 am)_

_Is that so?_

_Anthony P. (10:32 am)_

_You’re supposed to say, “I see I’m listed under your interests.”_

_Andrew M. (10:33 am)_

_But I already know that._

_Anthony P. (10:34 am)_

_Of course you do._

Ian hears his name being called, and he looks up, where Melanie is presenting him.

He puts the phone back in his pocket and walks to the stage with shaky legs, his hands clutching the book. He has a smile on his face as he looks at the crowd before him.

He takes a seat in front. “Hello everyone, I’m Andrew Hecox, and I’ll be reading an excerpt for you today,” he says with a dry mouth.

Ian looks at the crowd until he can see Anthony in the back, smiling at him in that little proud way of his. He’s leaning against the side of a bookshelf, a copy of Ian’s newest book in his hands.

Ian nods to himself. He’ll be able to do this.

He opens the book, turning to the page he had bookmarked.

“Love is a cup of coffee—”

Ian smiles before continuing the rest of the sentence.

Indeed, it is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Smosh. I don’t make money from this.


End file.
